


Like it was always meant to be

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: ...separately, Alternate Universe - Civilians, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Cheating, Civilian Eggsy Unwin, Civilian Harry Hart, Cuckolding, Dating, Explicit Sexual Content, First Dates, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hook-Up, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Infidelity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, Sort Of, background/referenced charlie/Eggsy, charlie is mentioned for about three seconds, sweet softness interspersed with filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: A follow up toLie To Me- (Civilian!AU in which Harry seduces his stepson’s poorly treated hook-up out from under his nose)An encounter they really really shouldn’t have had… and the date they always should’ve.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 40
Kudos: 186





	Like it was always meant to be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mepeters81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mepeters81/gifts).



> For Thisbirdhadflown , the one who inspired the original fic concept, who very kindly donated to Fic Fights Fire! So I wrote this in thanks. That's how long it's taken me, for which I can only apologise. I hope this is what you were hoping for!

Like it was always meant to be

"Do you come here a lot, then?"

It's a fair assumption, when the _maître d_ ' greets you by name, when the waiting staff treat you with quite such deference… some of it is almost standard service here, but Harry gently remembers the favourite spot he's chosen for their first real date isn't the sort Eggsy has had much opportunity to frequent. 

"High days and holidays… but those add up when you're my age." He offers a soft wink: he's not moaning. Harry does not have one single thing to moan about tonight. 

Not yet, anyway. 

"Dates?"

"Not many. " The last time he'd had an excuse to come here was with Charlie, actually, and had an incredibly awkward conversation about the man who currently sits opposite, his green eyes dark in the candlelight. At the time, he'd sat uncomfortably with the idea someone might think they were on a date; now he finds he'll be disappointed if nobody does. 

He can see Eggsy looking for prices on the menu and he won't find them. Harry has to remember that's not an insult, how far from his comfort zone Eggsy is in his brand new shirt and borrowed blazer: hes doubtless recalling the adage that if you have to ask how much something is you can't afford it… and perhaps the sweetest way through that is head on, the way they've learned to be.

"Tonight's my treat. And I've not had anyone to spoil in a long time, so please order whatever you like the sound of." 

A look flashes across Eggsy's face that's something like the one Harry is expecting but then Eggsy looks at his wine glass and smiles, the crease of his cheek and the glimpse of his tongue between his teeth doing something entirely terrifying to Harry's chest. 

"Well, I did get the sticky buns in, so fair's fair." 

They settle on food, though Harry was always going to have what he always has but he hedges his bets on a couple of additional side dishes he thinks are worth showing off to Eggsy. The portions aren't large so he doubts much will waste, and he also doubts Eggsy really settled on everything he'd had his eye on, even once he decisively put his menu down. 

"I ain't been on a proper date since I saved up to take Millie Davis to Prezzo and the cinema in year eleven."

Even from the momentary twist of his brow, Harry feels he knows Eggsy better than to ask how that went. It's nice to be able to do this, finally: to give Eggsy what he's now free to admit he always wanted to. 

"And so here we are. Would you like me to choose some wine for you? I'm not - uh, that is. You said you didn't know much about it, it's not that I -"

"I'd love that. And you're proper cute when you get flustered."

Flustered was by no means the intention for tonight but Harry supposes it’s inevitable. In the hazy half dark of bedrooms with no expectations Harry has relied on his instincts, his experience, but in the entirely different ambient half dark of an intimate restaurant table he's got nothing but his naked hopes.

"I'm not sure I've ever been called cute before."

"Well I've never had someone pick wine out specially for me, so here we are."

***

Eggsy looks nowhere near as comfortable as Harry would like him to, considering that for the moment it's just the two of them in his living room: parting the blinds with his fingers and Peering distractedly down the street.

"Did he say how late he was gonna be?"

Harry lets himself forget, for odd moments - because he wants to forget, nothing more or less to it than that - that Eggsy is there for Charlie, not him. 

"Fifteen minutes or so?"

An eyebrow raises, and pulls a quirk of butterflies in Harry's guts, and he’s not sure if it's because he knows that look or because of how badly he wants to.

"You can have a lot of fun in fifteen minutes."

Harry scoffs.

" _Y_ _ ou _ can have a lot of fun in fifteen minutes. The older models tend to be a little slower off the mark." There's barely even innuendo to it, there never is: there's no  _ time _ for teasing and flirtation. Talking around the houses would take up precious seconds that they just don’t have and Harry supposes that's one of the beauties of it, in a way. The naked urgency. The transparency of desire. The knife-edge sense that you might be completely losing your mind. "Would you like to, Eggsy?"

The wide-eyed shock is fleeting.  _ Are you sure _ has never quite had time to enter into it either. 

"Fuck yes."

They make their way together and meet between armchair and coffee table, and Harry gently pushes Eggsy back to sit down, both their hands on his belt before his arse can even settle in the seat. 

"It’s not going to… cause issues for you?"

"Doubt it. I'll work round it if comes up." He snorts. "Or doesn't."

Without another word, Harry kneels, gets Eggsy's trousers open, the fly of his boxers parted and finds him twitching quickly to life. He can smell the arousal on him before he's even fully hard: see it in the glaze over his eyes, the shine of spit on his bottom lip. He's either so desperate or so into this it almost hurts, and there's no harm to helping that along. Time is of the essence, after all. 

"You could keep watch, just in case we've mistimed…"

The jump of Eggsy's now stiff cock, the way he runs his palm up the back of his neck to take his cap off, put it back on, is his answer. 

"Fucking hell. Alright."

And so he's looking out of the window to the end of the mews as Harry wets his lips and slides Eggsy's cock right down into his throat. 

The immediate whimper is gratifying. It's a handy trick, and not an easy one on someone endowed like Eggsy is. The length's not as much the problem as the gorgeous thickness of him, making Harry's throat ache already but this is not the time to play about: it's working so he doesn't stop until he has to come up for air and Eggsy's hardness feels like it’s bruised his throat.  The slurp of coming off the head of his cock is filthily loud in the silent room, almost off putting but the flash in Eggsy's eyes is fire and then he doesn't seem to be able to tear them away again as Harry sinks back down. He tastes beautiful. This whole thing might be madness, but it also might be heaven.

Eggsy responds gradually, beautifully to the slick working of Harry’s throat, but he’s distracted, and who can blame him? There’s a very real chance they could be interrupted, but they won’t be _caught_ as long as he keeps his wits about him and an eye out for a cab slowing at the bottom of the road. Not an easy task to match with trying to lose yourself to hedonism deep fully enough to come in ten minutes flat, but the challenge is obviously one that pushes the right buttons for him, and that’s no surprise given the trysts they’ve had so far. The pulse in his cock is hard enough for Harry to feel on the surface of his tongue just under the head so he kisses there; strokes over it gently with his thumb whilst he licks over the tip and Eggsy cries out like it’s hurt him, he’s wound so tight.

Harry pushes Eggsy’s shirt up because his belly is a wonderful thing, stress and arousal tensed into a proper six pack, the kind they put on calendars. The kind Harry doesn't feel like he has any business touching, but touch it he does, with his left hand splayed on it, holding Eggsy down whilst his right works Eggsy’s cock into his mouth.

Eggsy tips his chin up, knocking his cap almost off on the back of the chair as he squirms. His pleasure is insistent but not easy for him, balanced as it is on the tempting knowledge that paying attention is all that stands between them and exposure, but he also wants is to melt into it, to enjoy watching Harry between his legs and hang the consequences. He’s getting there, and Harry knows when he comes there’ll be fireworks. He only hopes he gets time to enjoy them.

Time itself is syrupy, electric, and Harry has no idea how fast it’s passing. They can both hear the grandfather clock in the hallway ticking its warning but without context that tells him nothing; it’s oddly reminiscent of learning to diffuse a bomb although he never did that with an erection.  Harry’s own arousal is an amazing thing, relevant only in its focus: his climax will be Eggsy’s. That’ll be enough, and when he gets a chance to recall it he’ll make sure he can take his time with the memory. Time they cannot afford to take now.

He eases Eggsy’s death grip from the arm of his chair and guides it to the crown of his own head.

“Show me,” he says gently, running another lick up the vein underside Eggsy’s cock. He trusts Eggsy to understand there’s no laziness, no lack of interest in learning the best for himself. But how long they have or don't have is becoming an actual pressing concern, closing in, and Harry makes sure his eyes tell Eggsy that he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Take what you want.”

Harry hears the heavy breath through Eggsy’s nose and Eggsy accepts the invitation to work together to get this done: sinks back so that he can keep watching out of the window and guides Harry’s mouth back down onto his cock.

Harry gives Eggsy exactly what his hands ask for, finding a slick rhythm and devoting everything he’s got to it. Eggsy’s little gasps and  _ fuck _ s and  _ ah _ s come quicker then so Harry does not stop, tries not to deviate from what’s working even whilst he ramps it up a notch.

“Come on,” Egssy murmurs, beautiful, listless, presumably to himself because Harry’s already giving him everything.

Finesse would be a luxury; subtelty’s lovely for the long game but it rarely makes anyone climax any quicker, so Harry lets his form drop for function, lets the saliva run from his mouth to ease the stroke of his fist up to his lips, lets his breath come out as the little moans and grunts when he needs to whilst Eggsy chooses his pace with a fistful of Harry’s hair. It’s not as though he doesn’t know giving him pleasure turns Harry on, that they’re both enjoying this. Harry could enjoy it indefinitely, under less pressing circumstances.

But isn't that half the fun? The thrill of the race is there in the way Eggsy’s inner thigh trembles, his whines and whimpers get tighter and his grip clumsier as he pulls Harry down on his cock faster, chasing release. It’s taking longer than he expected it to, perhaps, nerves warring with excitement, the dual pulls of the kick of danger and the threat of failure. He loves the risk and his body’s playing chicken with it, trying to make it last.

Eggsy’s sweating, shaking, leaking out across Harry’s tongue with every gentle pull to his cock and Harry’s starting to wonder if perhaps he could do with his arse teased to help him along - god, they’re really pushing it now - when Eggsy grabs a hold on his head and keeps Harry just where he wants him.

“ _ There, that, yes -”  _ Eggsy gasps out, barely coherent, screwing his eyes shut in merciful bliss for a moment only to slam them back open when an engine passes the end of the street. His taste has sharpened, his stance so rock solid Harry can feel Eggsy’s curled toes in the tautness of his legs and they just need a few more seconds. “I’m almost there.”

_ Please… _ Harry sucks and prays, because he doesn’t know if either of them would stop now, regardless.  Eggsy’s cock is pounding on Harry’s tongue; he’s panting, bouncing his foot, his voice getting higher on every word,

"Shit, we're gonna get caught, shit, shit, shit oh  _ fuck _ I'm gonna come."

His head slams back against the top of the chair, he pushes Harry’s head down and stifles a cry at the bliss of release into his shoulder.  Success is hot and thick on the back of Harry’s tongue and that car door shutting... is awfully close.

Harry springs back and round - thank God for the running - and by the time Charlie has made his way along the cobbles, up the steps and in the door Harry's overcome his breathing and his erection by sheer force of will. When he turns, looking resolved and triumphant about whatever envelope he's just pulled out of the stack in the bureau, Eggsy has also somehow managed to clothe and compose himself enough to pass under the radar when Charlie blusters in.

If he cared, he’d want to look into Eggsy’s eyes in warm greeting and then he’d notice that his cheeks are blood hot, that he hasn’t managed to alter that lovely vague smug sparkle he gets in his eyes after orgasm… but would he even recognise it? 

“Take your hat off indoors, Eggsy, it’s rude,” is about all he says before making his way upstairs, and Eggsy rolls his eyes theatrically before he drags himself after him.

He also stops to squeeze Harry’s hand on the way.

***

“To… well, to us, I suppose.” It seems a little much, now it’s out of his mouth, but Harry held his wine glass forward for the toast before he spoke so there’s no taking it back now.

“Properly,” agrees Eggsy and touches their glasses. The wine is delicious, the food even moreso, and as is somehow already natural for them, conversation seems to roll from the trivial to the fathomless, the flirtatious to the serious and back again without a moment’s discomfort. 

"Why’d you get married? Are you even bi?"

Harry can rely on Eggsy to come right out with the big guns, but - deeply appreciated irony notwithstanding - their blossoming connection appears to be one of total honesty.

"Just about enough to get along." is… the short and diplomatic version. No doubt he’ll get the grisly details out of Harry at some point. "It was a different time. A lot of pressures, from various angles… one of which was myself, if I’m honest. I did love Phillipa a great deal, though, and still do, which probably tells you as much about that version of love as you need to know.”

Eggsy seems to consider, and accept, around a mouthful of steak. It’s entirely the wrong point in the conversation to get quite so distracted by the way he eats but Harry doesn’t feel any more in control of that than he has of anything else since they met that afternoon in his kitchen.

“Must have stung a bit though, the way it ended. That why you get funny about your eye?”

The damndest thing is, Harry’s never put the two together. And it’s silly, now Eggsy’s dragged it into the light, because it's so obvious now why the chemistry was never there to begin with, but to be sidelined for another man so soon after his injury...

… might just have been the best thing that ever happened to him, in hindsight, sitting here tonight.

“If she hadn't, she’d never have had Charlie, and I'd never have met you."

It hangs for a moment but Eggsy smiles. 

There are no aftershocks: it’s back to cars and dogs and whatever else over dessert which Harry barely tastes after Eggsy declines another glass of wine, because “you know, still wanna be on my game when you take me home. I’m guessing you’re taking me home?”

He’s not guessing at all. 

"I’ve taken the liberty of stocking you a toothbrush, and some pyjamas... although I'll be upset if you put them on before breakfast." Harry’s fairly sure their waiter picks that one up, but he has the good grace not to look round.

"How's you know what size?"

"I'm a tailor, darling, and one doesn't forget a body like yours when they've had their hands all over it." It’s the wine, and the heat, but Harry can feel himself blushing. "I hope that's alright."

"Course it is." There's a hesitancy to Eggsy's heartstopping grin then, but it isn’t reticence. It might be nerves. His hand rejoins Harry’s on the table, fingers intertwined. "And you can call me darling some more too, if you like."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please do let me know in some way. Feedback puts light in my days and keeps me writing. You can also find me [twitter ](https://www.twitter.com/agentsnakebite) and [ tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/randomactsofviolence).  
> \- because I love to chat fic and am always considering prompts and ideas.
> 
> Much love! xx


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